


Clouded Vision

by milesofregrets



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Mustafar (Star Wars), Oneshot, Single Chapter, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, a little sad, future sight, idk why i wrote this, who will judge me? god?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milesofregrets/pseuds/milesofregrets
Summary: On a routine mission, Qui-Gon brings his padawan to the remote mining world of Mustafar to interrupt a spice deal. While waiting for a ride home, Qui-Gon sees a vision of the future and wonders how to respond.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Clouded Vision

"What are we really doing on Mustafar, anyway?" 

Qui-Gon chuckled at his padawan's exhausted face, arms crossed in indignation under his thick cloak.  
"That would have been a question for the council, before we got here." he chided, making Obi-Wan duck his head in embarrassment.  
"I know, master. But... I never do like to question the council. Those meetings are long enough without me." he huffed, wiping sweat from his brow as the pop of molten lava singed a rock to his side.  
"You'll have to learn patience with the council someday." Qui-Gon laughed, choosing to ignore his own hypocrisy, recalling a time his own master had told him the same thing, many years ago.  
He smiled at Obi-Wan's disbelieving expression.  
"Maybe when I'm older. And maybe when it's not so hot." came the snippy reply.  
"Right. You remind me why we're here. It's that uninhabitable environment that makes this planet so desirable for spice handoffs. The crime lords get in, and they get out, never staying long enough to get caught."  
"But this place is so dangerous. Not to mention out of the way of every main trade route." Obi-Wan pointed out, brushing off a falling chunk of ash as he stumbled towards a resource silo up on the hill.  
"It only means that the underworld is getting desperate. Which is just an indication that our job, is a job well done." Qui-Gon winked, pushing open the heavy door with a grunt and letting the light from the lava bathe the barren, metal room in orange fire.  
The air suddenly sank into silence as the two Jedi wandered forward, the hiss and sizzle of volcanic rock fading into the background, replaced by the echo of footsteps. It was a musty room, boiling hot but still from disuse, and Qui-Gon noticed that despite his light tread, his feet still made marks in the many years of dust.  
"I don't see any other tracks." Obi-Wan mentioned, igniting his lightsaber to illuminate the dust once he felt no presence.  
"Me neither. We must be just on time, then." Qui-Gon said, relieved that he hadn't misinterpreted the decrypted message.  
"I just hope they get here soon. There's only so long we can stay in this atmosphere." Obi-Wan muttered worriedly, and the two of them stepped forward, listening to the tap of boots fall away into the shadows, with nothing left to do but wait.

As it turns out, they could never have been so lucky. 

Over a half-rotation later, Obi-Wan finally allowed himself to slump against a flat rock, resting his exhausted legs on the warm stone. The hisses of cuffed gangsters faded away into the ambience of Mustafar, allowing him peace and solace at last in the promise of safety, and in the absence of tasks and jobs. Qui-Gon joined him soon after, moving silently across the black earth to see his padawan, and he felt his face soften as he looked down at Obi-Wan, close to sleep even as he looked out over a sea of lava. His apprentice's brown cloak had long since been shed, currently being used as a pillow beneath his head, and the sweat beading down his nose had become thoroughly ignored, just another inconvenience in this world of harsh realities. The ash coating his pants and boots was reminiscent of the grappling with crime lords he had done only a few minutes earlier, and his eyes were halfway shut,  
blurring the view of their poor ship, melting in the pools of magma. Qui-Gon cursed his own negligence — he knew he should have brought an escort. Mustafar's unstable crust was not to be trusted, and had he thought ahead, they would be back at the temple, training instead of wasting time trying to block out the pounding of his head.  
It had begun the moment they'd entered the system. Splitting headaches that had started to blur Qui-Gon's vision at it's edges, and the fighting and dueling certainly had not helped. He would have liked nothing more than to sit beside his padawan and go to sleep, had he not needed to keep watch for their ride and look after the prisoners, but it was a futile hope that he quashed with a wave of the hand. It was, however, painful to try and ignore, and despite the way he squinted, the glare of the fire seemed to sear it's way into his skull.  
He sighed.  
It was not normal pain. It never seemed to be, for him, and when his senses began to fail, Qui-Gon merely sat down, legs crossed, reaching out to the Force in passive acceptance.  
What am I seeing?  
He thought to himself, the mantra as familiar as the click of his lightsaber.  
What do I know?  
His vision blurred into a cloud then, completely wiping away the view of Obi-Wan, and his ears buzzed with what sounded like millions of voices.  
What can I do?  
The answer was nothing. He couldn't be sure how he knew, or what he knew of, but the feeling of helplessness was drowning him beyond denial.  
He squinted against the pain.  
His ears rung, but the voices grew clearer, thick with anguish, and he saw the lava once more, exploding with turmoil and flowing with the anger of the force. Smoke flew by in a hurricane of fear. He saw two shapes, shadows of ash- nothing more than silhouette against bright color and each outlines of their own emotion, but he would recognize that face anywhere. The sharp slope of his nose, the bright glint of his eyes. It was the face of the young boy who slept in front of him now, twisted with emotion and scarred with age, and Qui-Gon felt his heart ache.  
What has time brought to you, Obi-Wan?  
He wondered sympathetically.  
Many feelings had he seen split his padawan's face.  
The joy of learning. The joy of completion. A gap-toothed smile as a completed lightsaber floated in front of his young, bright eyes, pride beaming from his smile.  
Tenacity. The stubborn perseverance of a young boy as he clung to a vine for dear life, determined to make it up the mountainside.  
Tranquility, fear, sadness, courage. Every color of life that Qui-Gon knew well.  
But when he gazed upon this other version of Obi-Wan, his face nearly made the Jedi flinch backwards. His blue eyes were exhausted. Full of life, but not a life that had been kind. He held a look of sorrow, but not of a hope. The face of a man who had been crushed too many times to try and get back up, and the scars of a soldier too jaded to see the gift of life. Not the soul of Jedi any longer. Qui-Gon tried to reach forward out of instinct, to wipe away the years that had been so cruel, but his hand passed through nothing. He could not change what was yet to happen, and he only sent ripples through the smoke as the song of gravely voices touched his ears.  
"You were my brother!"  
Came the anguished cry, and Qui-Gon could not listen any longer. He wished it would stop — seeing pain yet to come was the worst form of torment. He could only watch in sorrow as the other figure, strange and unknown, cried out in anger and agony and Obi-Wan's soul burned out so powerfully Qui-Gon could feel it's heat. He wanted to comfort his padawan, but he saw no room for peace in the mind of this man before him. There was only the truth. Only the relentless nature of time, and it's inevitability, and Qui-Gon shut his eyes tight as Obi-Wan opened his mouth once more. He could not hear it.  
He would not.  
And he did not.

"Master? Are you alright?" Came a sleepy voice from beside him, and Qui-Gon noticed with a start that he lay beside Obi-Wan once more.  
The Obi-Wan he knew. The child, young and peaceful, and the two of them looked out over waves of red and orange, bodies sore with exhaustion.  
"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Just... a headache, is all." Qui-Gon dismissed lightly, although to hold up his hand felt like he carried the weight of the world.  
He could not tear his eyes away from his padawan, face so clean and honest compared to the pain of the future, savoring the normalcy and the simplicity of the moment, however unpleasant it may have been.  
"Are you certain? I sense something... bothering you, master." Obi-Wan replied skeptically.  
Qui-Gon only sighed. The air stung in his lungs, but he let it, as he let the balance of the Force run through him once more. What could he say? What could anyone say?  
"Obi-Wan... there will come a time in your life when you must choose." he said softly after a long moment of quiet contemplation. "There is one for us all. And choice is never easy when the paths before you are uncertain."  
His padawan looked up at him with concern, but attentive silence, taking in every word with diligence.  
"When that time comes, Obi-Wan.... you must choose to love." Qui-Gon breathed out, looking out into the horizon, and praying to the stars he would say what was right, listening for some sign to guide his path.  
"Love?" questioned his apprentice, who leaned to sit beside his master, tiredness escaping from his body.  
"Love is not attachment. It is our duty as a Jedi. Empathy, compassion, love, to all those who need it. And there will come a time when it seems your options have faded, and the darkness blinks out your hope. But... trust me. You must choose love, Obi-Wan, because it is all we have, in the end. The love we give and the love we receive is what makes us who we are."  
Obi-Wan was silent.  
The bubble and pop of lava rivers sizzled through the silence as the young padawan though over his master's words with the careful consideration of a Jedi.  
"I will." he finally responded, turning to meet his master's gaze with a nod, the depth of his understanding unknown.

And Qui-Gon smiled back, although it did not reach his eyes.  
If only.


End file.
